


Truth

by pennamepal (glossmyeyes)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Incestual Feelings, M/M, horrible realizations, twisted feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11901207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glossmyeyes/pseuds/pennamepal
Summary: Ed swallowed down the bile working it's way up his gullet and said, unwaveringly, "I love you, Alphonse," because that would always be true. Even if the truth hidden within the truth whispered, 'I'm in love with you, Alphonse.'





	Truth

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've always wanted to write something for the FMA fandom -- it's my first time, so go easy on me! 
> 
> This fic is meant to be a standalone, but depending on if it generates any interest (in myself or otherwise) it could turn into a multichapter fic. 
> 
> A note about this -- in a lot of elricest fics it seems to me that Al is usually the one who develops/acknowledges his feelings first. It makes total sense, because of the disconnect with real, whole body feelings he must've had in that armor. That being said, I wanted to try something a little different. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Oh, and, if you're interested - the accompanying song to this fic is "Truth" by Seether.

  
It started as a seed: small, insubstantial, and dormant, deep inside the darkest cockle of his heart. It had no roots but his love, pure and untainted as it was back then.

Often, pure things never stay that way.

 _Always_ , as things grow, they twist and change.

His love had never needed to grow -- it had always existed as an unchangeable part of his very essence -- but grow it did, this seed of an idea planted inside him grew and twisted and changed. He had watered it unwittingly, helplessly; because how could he not?

How could he not touch and hold and brush his newly regained fingers through that flaxen hair? How could he not show his brother his love in a physical way when before he'd only been able to grasp at cold, hard metal?

And Al never turned away from him, no matter how tightly he clung (though not at first, in fear of bruising his pale, unmarred skin). He never scolded him or slapped his hands away, never spoke of any discomfort in their physical closeness at all.

It seemed like they both needed it, in a way -- they'd gone so long without really touching each other that it all seemed haplessly new, and therefore intoxicating. It became a need, almost, though perhaps more for Ed --sometimes he'd shake if he went too long without settling a hand on Al's shoulder to be sure he was still there.

And still, Al welcomed him with open arms every time, hushing his worries and patting his brother's back gently, reassuringly. He knew without being told that Ed never remained convinced that the whole thing wasn't some elaborate dream; that someday, after he'd grown so used to running his hands over his brother, the boy would splinter and crack and shatter like he never existed in the first place.

In times like those, Ed felt especially raw, worn down at the very edges of his psyche.  
It'd been years of non-stop pushing, fighting, crawling and scratching his way back up from the hole he'd dug for the both of them.

Al had never asked for that. Al had just wanted their mother back -- he'd wanted warmth, and safety, and love.

And Ed had offered it to him, only to drag him through years of hell in order to make up for the disappointment; his _failure_ as an older brother.

So he had no right to feel as though he was entitled to this -- something so simple as pressing his cheek to his brother's silken hair and inhaling the sweet scent that lingered on him -- but yet, he couldn't help but feel as though he'd earned it. He'd done it, finally. He'd set them to rights.

"What are you thinking so hard about up there, Brother?" Alphonse asked him, giggling when Ed spluttered and snorted into his hair, ruffling it with his breath. The older of the two had been quiet for several minutes now, lost in the maze of his own muddled thoughts. "I can practically hear the gears turning. I am trying to read, you know."

He lifted the dog-eared book so Ed could get a level eyeful of the title -- some dimestore romance novel called "In Accordance of Love." The cover was, predictably, a shirtless, eight-packed dude holding a teary-eyed girl in a close, intimate embrace.

Ed rolled his eyes, not that Al could see. "I'm thinking about how I never should have let you ask Sheska for reading material. You're too smart for that crap, Al, you'll rot your brain right out of your ears." Absently, he tugged on one of said ears with the hand that had been resting on his brother's shoulder. Al squirmed in his seat, but didn't pull away.

"Actually, this is on recommendation from Mr. Havoc," the younger clarified, swatting at the older's stomach when he began to laugh. It was a gentle reprimand, mostly for the damage of Ed's amusement to his newly cut-and-styled hair. "Don't make fun of him for it, either! It's not a bad read, and he was only trying to help."

Through his fit of cackling, Ed managed, "h-help with what? Defacing your masculinity?"

" _No_ , Brother! He said, and I quote, 'chicks dig guys that know how to romance.' I wouldn't have put it that way myself, but I understand the principle if it."

A sudden, sour taste in his mouth had Ed scowling now instead of laughing, all traces of mirth curdled. He dropped his hand from his brother's ear to his shoulder once again, squishing the red fabric of his shirt between his fingers.

"Brother?"

Al had been talking like that a lot, lately --getting a girlfriend had always been important to him, but unobtainable and impractical while in the armor. Now more than ever, gaining strength in his atrophied muscles more by the day, the possibility seemed staggeringly real.

And for Ed, that possibility felt like lemon juice and vinegar dripping down his throat, filling his stomach with acidity. "Not all girls care about shit like that," he grumbled snappishly. "Winry doesn't."

"Yeah, you're right Ed," said Al softly, reaching to place his own hand over his brother's and giving it a friendly squeeze. "She just wants you to be yourself."

"W-what? I never said anything about me!"

Al pulled away from him, the better to turn and look him square in the eye. A hot, horrible flush was making it's way up his neck; he couldn't keep eye contact long enough to really appreciate the stern but cute 'brother-don't-play-dense' expression Al's face had taken to.

"Ed..."

"Hey, oh wow Al, look at the time! You should be in bed, the nurse is gonna be in here any second and they're finally gonna have the grounds to make me leave if I don't at least follow _some_ of the rules, c'mon, let me help you up--"

As he helped his little brother from one of the horrible, plastic visitor chairs the staff had provided them with over to the hospital bed he'd spent the better part of a month in so far, Ed let himself bask in the relief that Al didn't seem inclined the push the matter further. They'd spoken of Winry often, of course, and she'd visited both of them plenty. But between Ed and her lingered some unfathomable 'elephant in the room' type things that everyone avoided speaking about, for the most part.

He knew it was because Winry, for one, knew when and when not to push him. They'd grown up together, after all; she knew better than to pick at the scabs of wounds he'd rubbed salt in and moved on, and she knew when his calculated distance was in their respective best interests.

It was also because she didn't know the nature of this particular distance. She probably assumed he was much too focused on Al to really consider taking their relationship to any new levels...and in that much, she would be correct.

Only it wasn't so simple as that. It wasn't so pure. It wasn't just that he wanted to make sure that Al grew some meat on him and regained the ability to walk more than a few feet without tiring. It wasn't just that he was afraid that if he turned his back for one second, Al would be gone again, back to the gate, because he couldn't really hold onto anything precious to him for more than a little while without it slipping from his grasp, could he?

It was more than a want, or a fear. More than a need, almost. It was that he couldn't help but card his battle-calloused fingertips through Al's hair when he put him to bed, after he'd snuggled comfortably into the mattress like a cat. It was the smiles, the looks, the laughter -- sometimes the laughter was so beautiful and twinkling it sounded musical to Ed. It was the way his stomach would do somersaults when he came back to the hospital in the morning and Al greeted him, beaming at him like he was the best thing that had ever happened in the world.

It was the love. The love, the warmth, the safety they'd been looking for all along.

While he sat in an ass-numbing chair watching as the nurse checked over Al ("Did you get enough to eat, sweetheart? I could bring you a pudding cup, it'll be our little secret...Not hungry, hmm? Okay, well are you in any pain?"), Ed found it almost humorous, very neatly ironic, that Al was the one in the hospital bed --

Because Ed, the realization dawning much too late, was one sick fuck. The truth of it had been there for awhile, only he'd been too happy, too blind, too foolhardy to see it for what it was:

The love that they'd always shared, transmuted into something monstrous, something that made his heart flutter and skip beats in the cage of his ribs every time Al said "I love you, Brother."

He said it tonight, in a half-yawning tone, after the nurse left him to sleep.

Ed swallowed down the bile working it's way up his gullet and said, unwaveringly, "I love you, Alphonse," because that would always be true. Even if the truth hidden within the truth whispered, 'I'm in love with you, Alphonse.'

His younger brother smiled at him; a soft, sleepy little curve that set Ed's stomach tumbling around again. "You'll be back tomorrow, right? Bright and not-so early?" 

"Hey! I'm here plenty early, I don't know what you're talking about. And anyway, I think I've earned the right to sleep in some mornings if I damn well please!" He failed to mention he wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight either, no thanks to Al and his adorable pouty face. 

"Brother, _hush_ , I'm only teasing. No need to get hissy." 

Ed stood, walking over to the other to lean down and bump their foreheads together in farewell. "Don't hush your older brother. I'll be back in the morning. Goodnight, Al." 

"Goodnight, Ed," Al replied, reaching up with thin fingers to tug at the ponytail that had slid over Ed's shoulder when he'd leaned down. "Take care of yourself, too, okay? You're looking kind of pale all of a sudden." 

Of course he'd noticed. Al noticed everything. Ed wouldn't have been surprised if Al could read his thoughts on his face like a book.

The older brother sighed, moving away quickly to compose himself. He shouldn't have gotten so close, but that's how he'd been saying goodbye for weeks -- a press of his skin to Al's. It would have seemed strange if he hadn't. "I'm fine, just tired. I'm leaving now, okay? Go to sleep."

He'd hardly made it halfway to the door, however, before Al's voice stopped him; "Brother?"

"Yeah, Al?" He didn't turn around, couldn't bear to look. Al sounded uncertain, confused. Suspicious maybe. Maybe it _was_ all over him. Maybe he'd said it out loud without realizing, or the way that he'd touched him was off, or --

"Just...tell me when you're ready, all right?" 

Ed's shoulders had never felt so tense. His whole body felt rigid, actually, frozen in time -- only his chest trembled when he inhaled raggedly, desperately trying to pluck something to say out of his jumbled mind but nothing was forthcoming. He could only panic, wonder what Al thought he knew, or what he would do if it turned out that Al had figured the whole thing out.

The horrible, gut-clenching silence between the two of them stretched far longer than Ed should have allowed. In fact, he'd let it go on so long that Al eventually heaved a soft sigh and said, "whatever it is, I'm sure it's not as complicated as you're making it out to be, Brother. But I won't push you. I just wanted to remind you that you can talk to me about it. You have this habit of keeping these things to yourself but you don't have to, you know." 

Ed opened his mouth, breathed shakily, choked on his own saliva, and shut it again.

"You don't have to carry these burdens all alone, Ed," Al went on, concerned. "I'm with you. I'm always on your side. Don't keep me out because you think you're protecting me."

But that was just it, he wasn't protecting Al -- he was protecting himself. If Al found out, he'd -- what? Be disgusted? Never want to look at him again? Hate him?

Ed couldn't handle any possible outcome, especially not of that nature. He couldn't lose Al again, even if that meant he'd live the rest of his life damned with these feelings sitting like concrete in his chest. 

So he said the only thing he could say, half-turned back to meet his brother's sad and wary eyes: "I know, Al, but there's nothing to tell, okay? I'm fine. Now seriously, goodnight." 

He walked away then, Al's quiet farewell floating after him. As long as it wasn't their last goodbye, Ed would be okay. 

As long as Al was in his life, Ed could be.


End file.
